It Takes Time
by FlightlessPenguin
Summary: The Italian and the Englishman take their time - well, mostly just the Italian, since the Englishman had never really been patient - on their way to the end of the rainbow. Part of a 30-day prompt.
1. Beginning

A/N: In this time, I was in the middle of reading The Sorceress. Please forgive the many holes! Also, this is part of a 30-day writing prompt (feel free to ask me where I got it!) Since I am so rusty in writing by myself - I roleplay a lot you see - this is a sucky drabble but deal with it. And also, I have no idea why this is so full of angst. I promise it'll get better. Just wait; you'll see.

* * *

"What?"

Niccolo Machiavelli couldn't quite comprehend what the man beside him was saying. But then again, it was just 4 AM in the morning.

Sheets rustled and the bed squeaked a little as a pale, naked Dr. John Dee rolled on it to be able to see the other Immortal. "So you were asleep," murmured the man. It was dark, but Niccolo thought he could hear a smile in the doctor's voice. The bed squeaked again when Dee turned to lie on his back. He cleared his throat. "I said, 'What becomes of this?'"

Niccolo's own throat tightened, and he found himself biting down his teeth. He found it a little hard to reply. He had sworn to keep his wedding vows with and to Marietta, and he had pushed her out of his mind the whole night… day, in fact. It was a brilliant, brilliant day. He felt with John what he had with Marietta…. He just didn't want to say it aloud yet. It felt like he was admitting that he was cheating, that he was a shameful person, that it was the beginning of a guilt trip. "What do you think?"

Dee inhaled soundly, and sighed through his nose. "I think," His voice shuddered a little in anxiety. "I think, that you were serious about what you said."

Machiavelli opened his mouth to say something, anything. The silence, however comforting for when you need to sleep, was now uncomfortable. Why was Dee nervous anyway? He felt nervous when Dee felt nervous. The other man was never nervous. Frightened, yes, scared, yes; but never, ever nervous. He had always done everything, entered everything, with such unfaltering confidence. It was hugely admirable.

Unfortunately, he found nothing to say.

"In my lifetime, I have met assorted humans and creatures, immortals and mortals alike, Elders and Next Generation both. In short, I've lived a very long time; I'm sure you can understand. But in that four hundred years, I have never met anyone that could compare - "

"Dee, stop." Machiavelli's jaw stressed as he bit down on his teeth, and a sheen of sweat blanketed his body despite the considerably cool temperature. He didn't like where Dee was going with this.

" - to you. I do not really want to come between you and your idealistic ways, but just to put it there, just to say that I have said all that I want to say, I am very, very - "

"Stop it." Muscles tensed, hands balled into fists, and his fingernails dug into his palms.

" - willing to. Apparently, I have - "

"Please stop." His pleading voice cracked, as if he were to die if Dee didn't heed his wish.

" - fallen for - "

"Don't do this." Machiavelli's eyes were shut so tight that his face contorted into an ugly mess of wrinkles.

" - you."

The Italian's heart lurched, and his chest felt heavy. He didn't know he was holding his breath until he let it out with a shiver. His eyes started to shed tears, and he started to cry. He did not care if it was Dr. John fucking Dee was the one beside him in 4 AM in the morning, he wanted to cry; he was also in love with him, after all.


	2. Accusation

A/N: Again, in the middle of The Sorceress. And _again_, rusty writing. I apologize!

* * *

Dee blamed himself for the aftermath of his confession.

A red-eyed Machiavelli had grabbed his bathrobe and slept outside his own room. The next day, the Italian wouldn't look him in the eye. Of course, right after clothing and refreshing himself, he had went out of the house, and didn't look back. Sometimes he wondered how stupid he could be sometimes.

The doctor had hailed a cab, because he didn't expect last night to happen. Maybe the optimistic side of him thought that it would be a fantastic idea to just blurt out all of his feelings right there and then, just an hour right after lustful sex.

Lust.

Was that all that it was? Pheromones, the lack of another warm body to get you through the night, pleasure, euphoria? He had, in all his life, never thought that if he were to crave another person's sexual company, that he would end up with a guy and even fall in love with him. This was the deprivation of sex talking, surely. But the thing was, he felt that Machiavelli was actually feeling the same the whole time.

The cab hummed under him, and he couldn't believe that he was so sensitive now that he turned on.


	3. Restless

A/N: Yep, still reading The Sorceress in this one. Getting less rusty, though. I guess, and hope.

* * *

Dr. John Dee was, strangely out of character, biting on his pristine nails.

He wasn't expecting his phone to ring today, and moreover, have Niccolo Machiavelli's name flashed blatantly on the screen. Why was he calling? It had been a month, and the doctor thought that they had silently agreed on cutting their ties with each other after his disastrous confession.

Hundreds of possibilities ran though his mind as the third ring resonated in the hallway. He was in the bank, depositing money. A few people with a short fuse glared daggers at him, irritated with him not answering or at least pressing the 'Ignore' button on his phone.

Was Machiavelli sent to work with him on something? The Elders knew he was solely focused on the twins of legend, Nicholas Flamel, and the last two pages of the Codex. Did they have information? Did Machiavelli's Elder stumble upon something good enough to threaten his?

Or maybe Machiavelli was calling him for personal reasons.

Like, for example, oh, Dee doesn't know, _his confession_?

After the fourth ring, the Magician finally decided to press the green button, and make his way out of the building, with the phone against his right ear. "Ni - I mean... Machiavelli." He remembered that night; the Italian had asked him to call him by his first name. And today was a long time coming from that night.

"John," breathed the voice from the other side of the phone, almost longingly. And yes, Dee had asked Machiavelli to call him by his first name, too. Then the taller man cleared his throat. "I mean, Dee."

There was a long minute of silence, and Dee had thought that maybe Machiavelli had actually forgotten he contacted the Englishman in his embarrassment. "Yes, you called?" prodded the doctor.

"I... I just called to... ah, what, erm, to say, I mean, _ask _if you're going to spend Christmas Eve with anyone...?" Machiavelli's voice and the uncertainty and the shyness in it made Dee smile fondly.

Although, _Christmas Eve_?

What was Niccolo Machiavelli doing inviting him for _Christmas Eve_? Or perhaps Machiavelli had invited a lot of other people. Was he holding a gathering or something?

"May I ask what the reason is?"

"Oh! Uhm, I'm just... I'm not holding a party or anything if that's what you're thinking. I just... er, it's just that there's this wedding that they planned on Christmas Eve, and I already checked plus one, and I don't have anyone to go with... I mean it's alright if you don't want to go! I'm not forcing you..."

Dee raised his eyebrows. No doubt Machiavelli had asked a lot of other people before he did with him. They weren't exactly in the best state of... whatever they were in. He bit his tongue in thought. He was free on Christmas Eve, but he wasn't sure if he was ready for the consuming awkwardness. Ah, this man is not good for his health. He knew what he was going to say already.

"I'll go."

"Oh, that's fi - " Dee shook his head with a smile. Machiavelli was already expecting him to deny his invitation. "I mean, brilliant! I'll just contact you with further details then. Have a good day!" And the line went dead without Dee even properly responding. It was fine; he knew how the Italian was feeling anyway: a rush of emotions that made him feel like he was a teenage girl in love.

He sighed and wondered when this infatuation - that his mind and heart had convinced him was love but it is _not_ - was going to end.


	4. Snowflake

A/N: Still in the middle of The Sorceress. Actually, in this time I was already having second thoughts on whether to make this AU 'cause this doesn't fit in the series' timeline anymore. Less rusty! And can I just say that I really like this chapter?

* * *

It was very cold on that one December in Paris.

Niccolo Machiavelli fought back a shiver as he opened the huge door that led outside his townhouse, and let Dr. John Dee in. A flurry of snow and harsh wind had followed the doctor, but he seemed fine with the bad weather. Perhaps he's used to this kind of treatment from the world.

It was snowing in Paris, something that didn't always happen.

The Magician pushed off the snowflakes that had collected on his trench coat as well as on his hair while Machiavelli closed the door, his hands finicky and pale as always. "Quite the weather you have there." commented the smaller man lightly, setting his coat on the stand right beside the entrance.

"I'm surprised you even pushed through it," The Italian snipped back, keeping his hands inside the warm pockets of his bathrobe. Yes, a bathrobe. It was all he had on now, besides his cotton slippers and boxers. He planned the day - since he had nothing assigned to him and it was terribly cold - to be for himself. He was hibernating before this gentleman had arrived. "We weren't supposed to see each other until Christmas Eve..."

Dee peered at the tan man's attire; despite his always sneaky appearance, he just seemed homey and nice to cuddle and sit by the fire with on days like these... He cleared his throat as they made their way to the living room. "Yes, well. I thought I could just drop by, I dunno. I also get lonely, you know." He shrugged, and plopped down on the couch.

Machiavelli dipped his head immediately because he knew his face had tinted with pink. Dee was obviously referring to that time he invited him for the wedding. He actually didn't know what was running through his mind that time. Why Dee? Couldn't he have just paid someone to go with him? He composed himself and sat down on the armchair opposite Dee. "Fair enough." quipped the Italian, not knowing what to say anymore.

It was awkward... at least for him. He had spent a long time suppressing whatever was this thing building up inside him. And to have Dee just coming in suddenly... it all seemed worthless now. He forced back tears, his late wife flashing in front of his mind. He was _such_ a drama queen.

"You're really not going to change your clothes, aren't you?" smirked Dee, a joke playing around in his stone gray orbs. Machiavelli blinked at him, surprised. Before he could respond, Dee shook his shoes off, and kicked them up in air and brought them back down on the other side of the couch. He was lying down, now, with his face to the ceiling, hands neatly folded across his chest. "That's alright; I like it."

Dee just had closed his eyes when he felt a great weight on him. He blinked his eyes open and was shocked to see Machiavelli was straddling him. He blinked again. This was... unexpected, to say at the least. Wasn't he the one to reject him? He'd been trying to get over it; he still was. And he didn't need his Awakened senses to see the beads of salty water profusely running down the other's face. He was to sit up after he let Machiavelli cry for at least a minute, but the moment the Italian felt him moving, he pushed him down. "W-what...?"

"Please, p-please." sobbed Machiavelli, hands hard as it grasped and wrinkled Dee's suit. "Let me see for myself that I can still retrieve myself from falling in love with you; I can't do it alone, I can't do it alone."

The Magician gulped. "What do you want me to do?"


	5. Haze

A/N: Still in the middle of the Sorceress. I've been delaying reading it because if I read too fast I'll get to The Necromancer all too quickly and the magic will be over all too soon. Less rusty yet again. Yay! And I also like this chapter. Not an explicit sex scene, but we all know what happened. If 'haze' wasn't too clear here, I'm sorry lol. I made it sort of hazy for both the reader and Niccolo. I hope it carried across!

* * *

Nimble fingers traced warm skin. Lips and tongues clashed against each other. Naked bodies pressed together. There were squeezes and touches, moans and groans. They had moved to the master's bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes behind them. This was all supposed to be pure pleasure, yet both knew it wasn't.

Niccolo Machiavelli still had tears running down his face. Feeling this much love and this much raw happiness wasn't good. It was unfaithful to his vows, and he is a man of his word. His wife would surely be turning in her grave. He cannot believe he was engaging in this activity to prove to himself that he didn't love nor need the Magician, while it would only do the opposite. Was he a masochist? This was ultimately destroying him.

Dr. John Dee could feel the Italian's tears. He had wiped them away several times, but they just kept coming. He couldn't - can't - do anything. He can't stop loving him after all; he just could not keep away from him. He knew this was killing Niccolo, and yet he cannot help it. It was the taller man who asked for it, anyway. Excuse him for taking advantage of the rare opportunity. He had to jump at it while it was still there.

Dee couldn't help but look upwards, his gaze going through the cement and the wood, and to the heavens. This man was his now. Why couldn't Marietta just let him go? Give Niccolo a peace of mind. Wasn't he happy with him? What was so special about Marietta? He'll promise him he's worth it all. He'll prove himself.

But it pained Machiavelli to be close to surrendering himself. He _promised_. And promises, contrary to popular belief, weren't made to be broken. But the more he thought and interacted with John, the more he found himself lost in this delicious puzzle of a man. He knew he was on the brink of having his first broken promise.

Dee would help him. It won't be easy, but he'll get him through it.

Machiavellli threw his head back as he came, mouth open, a sheen of sweat covering his whole body. His face contorted into a mix of pain and pleasure. The doctor followed soon after, clawing the other man's back and gritting his teeth. Their bodies crashed down on the bed, exhausted sighs escaping from their chests. They rested, basking in the afterglow.

Machiavelli slept immediately, being tired of all his crying and the intercourse itself. Dee turned his head to look at his tear-stained face, brushing them away. Just the thought of not having him beside him every night tugged at his heartstrings. He let another sigh pass through his nose. "Just be mine already," whispered he to the sleeping figure, his English accent thick. And then he realized something.

Dr. John Dee will definitely make Niccolo Machiavelli his. Maybe not now, but someday. Just wait.


	6. Flame

A/N: Still reading The Sorceress. I don't like this chapter that much. =_= I think I was half-asleep when I wrote it. I dunno. Or maybe I forced this day out of me. I don't like being forced after all.

* * *

Niccolo Machiavelli woke up when it was nearly noon, an empty bed greeting him good morning. It was still so cold, though. He rolled himself so that it was his back that was facing the ceiling, and took in a deep breath. The sheets smelled like sex... and the Magician. It reminded him of what he already clearly remembers. He thought he was going to cry at the thought of last night again, but he realized that his eyes were already tired of doing so. It was good that John wasn't here anymore. He wouldn't know how to react. He was incredibly numb to everything right now.

Pushing himself from the stained bed, he clutched the covers, and used them to cover his naked body as he walked towards the restroom. Where was his bathrobe? Where was his boxers? ...Where exactly were all the clothes both of them had thrown away on the floor in a haste? How nice of the doctor to clean up. Whilst the faucets in the bathtub was running, he looked at himself on the mirror just above the sink. It was amazing how shameful he felt of himself.

When the water was ready, he just sunk into it and sighed. He stayed there for at least an hour, not minding whenever his phone rang. Let it ring. He could bet he has more than ten messages there already. You have no idea how frustrated he gets when he sees his inbox flooded with messages from work. Sometimes he liked being in an airplane, flying away to a far place where there wasn't any signal. But unfortunately, that wasn't always the case.

The water drained quietly as he pulled the plug, and Niccolo grabbed a towel from the racks. He proceeded to wrap this around him, and opened the door towards his bedroom. "...What the?" Dagon was always the one doing this, and he wasn't here anymore. His bed had a new set of sheets, and had been tidied up. Confused wrinkles formed on his tan face as he looked around the room. "Who the heck...?"

In his haste, he didn't bother to dress up. His dirty white aura crackled, and the smell of snakes hovered around him. It wasn't good not being careful. Feet padded cautiously through the house, and finally stumbled upon someone sitting on a couch in front of the fireplace, a mug that was half full of tea in his hand. So John Dee was still in the house.

The Englishman's gray orbs flickered at the Italian's damp, half-naked figure, and immediately attended to his cup. "Hope you don't mind me using your utilities. I was thirsty and hungry." said he, a tad bit of awkwardness blanketing the atmosphere. Machiavelli noted the assorted biscuits on the coffee table with his chinaware.

The taller man frowned as John poured him a cup. "Earl gray," offered he, and Machiavelli felt the burn in his throat. Was he going to take it? Was he going to reject it? Somehow in his mind, taking it meant that he was to finally surrender, and rejecting it was the opposite. He was awfully thirsty himself, and it was freezing despite the strong fire. Tea would soothe his body and senses. But he likes coffee better. Maybe he should just make one. Maybe he could just take the cup and smash on the ground and scream, 'Yes, I do mind! Now get out of my house and life!' Maybe he could just walk out from the room and get dressed... Like he did the first time? But that didn't work at all; it just delayed everything.

'Wow,' thought he, a shiver running down his spine. John was still holding up the cup after his three seconds of thinking. Maybe he'd just let more seconds pass by until the Magician finally puts his hand down. 'I'm thinking too much.' With trembling hands, Niccolo finally lifted his right hand and slowly wrapped his fingers around the expensive mug.

As he sat down beside the doctor, Machiavelli sipped the tea, and it set a pleasant flame in his throat and stomach, as well as in his heart. Both stared at the fireplace in silence for the next few minutes, not knowing what just happened.


	7. Formal & Companion

A/N: Now reading The Necromancer. And crying. Why haven't I slowed down a bit? Wow I just want to hurt myself. Well, I'll be adding a few non-canonical historical figures here. Let's see if you can spot them, eh? And yes, I've joined two days into one. This is just how lazy I get. So sorry that I'm not sorry. 8D

* * *

It was a mild day, considering the recent too snowy weather. The couple that was married considered it a great omen. Both of them were immortal humans, the man a friend to the Italian. He serves in the Secret Service as well. They were having their wedding in England, though, because of the woman's nationality. There were a wash of immortal humans in the place, at least two Elders, and a few Next Generations.

"I hate being in England," muttered Dr. John Dee lowly, fiddling with his white bow tie in the restroom of the reception. A lot had happened here in England that he was willing to forget.

Niccolo Machiavelli, in the meanwhile, had just finished adjusting his equally white necktie, tucking it under his handmade tuxedo. He found that he wanted to smack the doctor's hands away from his bow tie and just fix it himself. Seeing him messing with it made it irresistible. But he managed to control himself. "Then perhaps you should have asked me for details before agreeing to come with me," He murmured, brushing away the dust that had accumulated at his shoulders. "And besides, I think you'd want to know that Eileithyia is here, along with her twin."

The Magician's head snapped up almost immediately, curiosity painting his blue- and red-speckled gray eyes. "Artemis? And Apollo?" questioned he, disbelieving that the other twins in the legends were here. Artemis liked to call herself by her Cretan name more, thus Eileithyia, but Apollo stayed loyal to his most famous name. The man was indeed quite proud. Why were they here? They rarely showed themselves anymore, even with all the chaos around them. Oftentimes they were wary of their surroundings, and had remained neutral in the wars, only trusting themselves, staying in their own Shadowrealm.

Machiavelli nodded, now proceeding to go outside. "Apollo had Awoken the groom, and Artemis the bride." whispered he to the doctor.

Dee was about to ask how he knew, but instead a sly smile crept up to his face as he followed the taller man out. "I'm betting you got that from your database." said he, his chin lifting to show his arrogance.

The same crowd they had met earlier in the church greeted the immortals, although this time, there was a much more easy environment. Glasses and silverware clinked, laughter and conversations were in the air, and the smell of delicious food engulfed their sense of smell. It was a pity most of the guests didn't take a liking to eating for the pleasure of it.

"And so I've heard you knew about it," Machiavelli said with a clipped tone, feeling a little touchy on the subject. Aten had pointed it out a long time ago, but it was still frustrating how his secret database wasn't even much of a secret anymore.

"You're not the only one who has a vast amount of knowledge," quipped the Magician, smiling politely at a person who greeted them both, and shaking the man's hand. Machiavelli had done the same, and quickly moved along, refusing to reply to that remark.

"Ah, here's the Italian with his Englishman," A deep male voice greeted behind them. When they swiveled around, they discovered him to be the groom, who was a former prime minister of Italy, with his new wife on his arm. The woman looked as if she was about to burst into a fit of laughter.

"Alcide, _il mio amico_," laughed Niccolo, opening his arms to embrace the other man. They proceeded to converse in Italian. The name sounded pleasant on his tongue, and he seemed genuinely happy. And what was with the possessive term, 'his Englishman'? These were the simple observations of the doctor.

Wanting to keep to his polite streak, Dee had kissed the bride's outstretched hand, and smiled at her. "Congratulations," said he clearly, wondering what she had done for Artemis in her lifetime, and just who she was. Artemis surely wouldn't just be Awakening humans if she was staying inconspicuous. Apollo, too. And where those Elders, anyway?

"…and perhaps you've heard of my companion, Dr. John Dee." introduced Machiavelli, stepping back to allow the Magician to some limelight.

"We are quite aware of your existence, Doctor," mused Mrs. De Gasperi, lips in an amused curl. "You have not exactly a good name on you, but I've always liked good heads on shoulders."

A smile made its way to Machiavelli's face; Dee did indeed have a good head. With immense curiosity like his, nothing was impossible.

Dee smiled himself, feeling a little abashed at the woman's compliment. "Why thank you, milady," said he, happy that someone had finally noticed his brain and not his rotten reputation. It was always the case when it came to him.

Genevieve whispered something in her husband's ear, which caused him to have a huge grin, and he leaned in towards hers to say something back. She playfully smacked his arm and giggled like a little girl.

Machiavelli raised an eyebrow; they were obviously talking about them. It was in their body language. But why the giggles…? Gray eyes flickered towards the shorter man, who was also peering at him. They were thinking the same thing. How immature for the couple… but they were newlyweds after all, it was natural. Before they could properly excuse themselves because it was getting too awkward, new people had arrived.

A woman arm-in-arm with a man with identical features walked - more like floated, what with their grace - towards them, the man's features slightly happy, and the woman's… not so much. "Dee, Machiavelli," The brown-haired Elder greeted, shaking hands with the both of the famous immortals, while the archer regarded them with a cold stare, only noticing the married couple. "Mr. and Mrs. De Gasperi! My sister and I are happy you two have ended up together even after your painful past, dear Alcide."

Genevieve's hand flew up to her husband's back, circling it. His past was painful, and she just wanted him to forget all about it. He did leave with a good reputation, being one of the founding fathers of the European Union. Alcide smiled gently at her, wrinkles clear on his face, and faced the taller man. "Thank you." whispered he, bowing to the Elders. His wife and the two men followed suit. "Now if you'd excuse us; we've to greet the other guests." Then the four were left alone.

Apollo sent a dangerous smile in their way. "A friend of the groom, I presume?" asked he, directing it to the Italian, who nodded.

"We are surprised you are here," Dee remarked. Machiavelli saw something glint in his eyes, and he wondered how much it was taking him to hold back all his of questions for the twin gods.

"Ah, yes. It would indeed be a surprise for anyone. We rarely venture out of our own Shadowrealm…" Apollo started, straightening his maroon-colored velvet tuxedo, and pushing back his hair.

"But this is an important occasion." finished Artemis, her voice cool and collected. Her light blue eyes, however, told another story. She did not like mingling with immortals that had a side. They were often bad news. Her arms were folded over a cocktail dress that matched the color of her brother's suit.

Apollo gestured towards the buffet with an alluring smile, ignoring his twin's tired glare. "Mayhaps we can converse over dinner? It's been long before I've eaten something in a wedding, and I want to be updated on the ongoing events. Alcide doesn't keep up with current affairs."


	8. Move

A/N: Done with The Necromancer. That was definitely a thin book. And I spent no time delaying myself why. Sniff. I would suggest searching for My Funny Valentine by Chet Baker before reading and playing it while reading. I've listened to it while writing; maybe it would find a place in your heart.

* * *

The reception was still ongoing, only now there was a violin, a cello, a saxophone, a piano, a marimba, and a singer. They started out with some Christmas jingles to get the vibes going, then they slid into a few beautiful pieces without lyrics, and then they did classic love songs. Slow and fast, both. And now, it was their extended version of Chet Baker's My Funny Valentine.

"You're my funny valentine," drawled out the handsome vocalist, his voice smooth and velvety. "Sweet comic valentine; you make me smile with my heart."

Apollo untimely spun his sister around, making Artemis gasp and smack his arm, on which he just chuckled on. "Sorry!" said he lightly. He swayed himself and the female in accordance to the song.

"You say sorry but you're not really sorry, aren't you," muttered Artemis in more of a statement than a question.

"Right you are! Ah, you know me so well." Apollo commented with a sly smile. "That's why you are my twin. Don't we just complete each other?"

"Get a girl! Get a woman! Get a man, I don't care!" sighed the archer, an exasperated look on her flawless countenance. "I am honestly tired of you picking on me and no one else but me," She took her hands from his and put them on both sides of his face. They stopped moving. "It's not that I don't love you, but you should venture out of this relationship-" She used one hand to make a circle around them. "And to get to know other people. Because, I dunno, I might die someday and you'll have no one else to lean unto!"

Apollo put his hands over Artemis', and looked straight into her creamy brown eyes with his own. "Sister, answer me honestly. Have you met someone without my knowledge? You are not usually this way." Artemis' face flushed, and she broke their gaze. That was enough an answer for Apollo. He removed his hands away from his face and held them tightly. "How come I've never heard of him? Or her," he added quickly. He knew his sister swung both ways. Tears welled up in his orbs. "Are you leaving me already? I knew this day would come, but I didn't think it would be so soon!"

Regret immediately made its way to Artemis' face. She pried his hold from her hands and held them up in such a way that they were ready to wipe away any tears that would fall. "Brother, I am never going to leave you, so don't fret! I am just saying that –"

But before she could continue, Apollo had lifted her up in the air and spun her around, laughing with delight. "Ah, I knew it!" exclaimed he, earning a few glances from the people around them. He dropped Artemis and threw a peace sign at the people around them. "Sorry!"

"Your looks are laughable, unphotographable, yet you're my favorite work of art," said the singer, his voice as sweet as honey.

From afar, two men observed them. They sat beside each other on an empty table among empty tables; everybody had gone dancing, of course.

"Don't they just border on incest?" Dr. John Dee commented, arms folded, his ankle on his other leg's thigh. "Or maybe Apollo just has a sister complex, or vice versa, or maybe both."

"Gosh, aren't we heterosexual and righteous." came the snarky reply from Niccolo Machiavelli. He snorted, and leaned forward to put his elbows on the table, one arm on the other. Why were they still here anyway?

Dee grinned lopsidedly. "Does that mean you've finally made up your mind?" Much time had passed since _that_ day, and the doctor wasn't the most patient of people. He needed an answer, or at least a hint, but they hadn't talked about their last sexual encounter and what it meant. For Machiavelli, it was too awkward and he just wasn't ready, and for Dee, he just wanted to give the man some space until he was ready. Pressuring him would just open the possibility of denying him. And he didn't want that. Just how long had it been since he'd last been in love? 'Too long,' he thought. 'And I don't want to lose this one.'

The Italian swiveled in his chair to look at him pointedly. "I wasn't…" He trailed off. He thought he knew what he was going to say, but it turned out to be the opposite. He frowned, contemplating on what to reply. Dee gulped in anticipation.

"Niccolo, Doctor!" called a female voice. They looked away from each other in instinct. A smiling Genevieve came into view, with one hand held out towards them. "Why won't one of you take me around for a spin? Actually, John, you look more like the dancing type!"

The Magician's eyes flickered back to Niccolo at the same time the Italian glanced at John. Dee took her hand with a charming smile, and stood up elegantly. "Of course, milady. But where is the mister?"

"Is your figure less than Greek? Is your mouth a little weak? When you open it to speak, are you smiling?" questioned the vocalist, a twinkle of hope in his eyes.

Niccolo then watched the doctor spin her away, careful of the expression his face held. He folded his arms as he sat back. He had lost his words back there. He almost never ran out of words. The last times - yes, time_s -_ were with Marietta. He was lost in his little world until a firm hand touched him on his shoulder. He jumped in his seat, dirty white aura flaring a little, and turned his head to see whose hand was it. His aura died down as quickly as it came when he saw who it was. "Alcide, do not scare me like that." murmured he in both of their native language as the said man sat down beside him. "Why aren't you with the missus?"

The former prime minister smiled at him. "I was too tired to dance further, and she wanted to dance some more, so I let her. It is one of her many beautiful passions," said De Gasperi, sitting back with a small smile on his face.

Machiavelli couldn't help but smile himself. "Both of you really go well together; I hope for your happy future." hummed he, catching one of the discreet glances Dee had thrown his way.

Alcide said his thanks. "And you and the doctor also go well together," said he, a light, teasing grin gracing his lips. Niccolo looked questioningly at him, and was about to say something, but he held a slender finger up. "I just felt it. You would be surprised with Genevieve. I brought the subject up earlier, and she said she also observed the same, and she gushed almost endlessly about it. Let's just say that she... _supports_ you two." He waited if the other man had something to say, but he was speechless, apparently. "Is there really something going on between you two? I mean, you could have invited someone else, like, a girl. I'm not being judgmental, nor am I homophobic, so no qualms about that, but, really. You two have immense chemistry ongoing."

Niccolo's lips pressed together in a grim line. "...I guess you can say we do have something going on. But it is too complicated to explain," He added quickly.

Alcide's grin only grew wider. "The fools in love have always said that."

"But don't change a hair for me," pleaded the musician. "Not if you care for me."

"So, you're with Niccolo, yes?" asked Genevieve innocently.

"What?" chuckled Dee nervously, and his step faltered. Why would she say that? "I am not." It was the truth anyways, so it wasn't like he was lying. And it's not like lying made a difference with himself!

"Yes, and I'm not married to Alcide." said the bride sarcastically.

The Magician narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What even makes you so confident?" His heart thumped wildly within his rib cage as he awaited her reply. He didn't know he didn't want to be discovered that he was having feelings - real feelings, real attraction - for the Italian until now. He didn't feel the world was ready yet. Actually, he didn't feel ready himself. It was like he still needed Machiavelli to make it official before they announced it. Of course, he didn't want a pity party following him around when he rejects him.

"You have undeniable chemistry, Doctor. Don't make me beg for you to agree. And you glow when you're around him; and vice versa." commented the orange-haired bride, now heading towards the two men in the sidelines seated together.

John gulped; he glows when he's around him? _Glows_? He didn't even notice where they were going. "Excuse me, can you just repeat what you had just said?"

"_You glow when you're around him,_" repeated Genevieve in a rather more stressed and louder way as she clutched his hand tightly and lead it in front of a surprised Niccolo Machiavelli. It seemed as if he was offering him a dance.

"He glows when he's around me?" speculated the Italian as Genevieve winked at her husband and proceeded to grab Machiavelli's hand to put it over Dee's. Gray eyes looked at each other in a dumbfounded way. The woman then pulled the taller man to his feet and pushed them to the dance floor.

She sighed, satisfied with the result when she sat down on Machiavelli's previous seat. "How I just love it when things work out!" said the bride, giggling with delight.

"And I you," replied the groom, putting an arm over his woman's shoulders and pressing a kiss against her temple. Both of them watched as the men they helped out danced awkwardly with Niccolo taking the lead, talking to fill the silence.

"Stay little valentine, stay!" begged the singer, the marimba complementing his voice nicely. "Each day is Valentine's Day," The saxophone and the piano ended the song in a nice, lovely tone.


End file.
